Not Truly Gone
by zenniel
Summary: Oneshot. Rated T for gore. Andryl. Andrea and Daryl are suffering after one of their greatest friends dies.


**Look! I've made another Andryl fanfic this time focusing on another of Andrea's greatest times of need. As always, please review~**

Andrea didn't know when she'd finally consciously stopped grieving for Amy. It began after the CDC, after she'd broken her own resolve and escaped being blown up in a million smithereens like Jacqui and Jenner. It had been a slow process to be sure and people had treated her differently from then on out, like she was in danger of killing herself. She hadn't understood it at the time but she realized now that they were acting as her family, trying to heal her in their own way. In some ways they'd quickened the healing process. She'd never really thanked them, not by words at least. But perhaps she'd thanked them by action. She'd shown that she was better. However, she wasn't without hardships, and she took most of her problems out on Dale. What astonished her even to this day was that he'd just stood there adamantly by her side, soaking her blows—purely mental and spoken with a harsh tongue—like he was some sort of sponge.

She didn't know when, finally, her nightmares ceased. She didn't know exactly but after a while she'd certainly noticed. How could she not notice that she woke up rested, like she actually had the strength to move? She began to participate in conversations again, began to play a few card games at night by both fire and, later, electrical light, even found time to play a little with Carl during the day. Teach him how to fish, watch him for Lori. She grew close to them again, even Daryl, whom she thought hated her since she'd nearly blown his head off.

In a way, though, Andrea had hardened her heart. She would not grieve any longer like she had grieved for Amy. Could not grieve in the same way. Similarly, she could not bring herself to love anyone like she'd loved Amy. If she lost the person she loved, then she would be even more lost. Lost amid a world of people just as orphaned and alone as her. The longer she kept with her family, though, the longer she felt a stirring of something else. Hope, maybe. It started with Shane until he backstabbed her, became sick in the mind. Even she could see that, and she doubted him, but she had hung on, hoping he'd get better. Then, slowly, she felt an even stronger yearning for the man she thought she could never cope with. Shane was the first step, the step that drew her in, allowed her to realize that what she felt was real. She'd even begun to act upon the strange stirrings deep in her core, taking her first tentative steps into awareness. She'd given Daryl a book and when he'd accepted it, she felt as if she were one step closer.

Perhaps normalcy could never happen again, not in this world. But Andrea felt some sense of _normalcy_ return and it felt good. Of course, even she knew that all good things would soon come to an end. She just had no idea it would turn out this way. But, knowing her _luck_, it would have turned out this way no matter what.

He was there, lying on the ground, his guts literally spilling out of the gaping hole that used to be his stomach. He looked so confused, so in pain, so in shock that all he could do was move his mouth, making strange noises, and look at them, eyes wide under his bushy eyebrows. She'd promised that she'd never again grieve like she had with Amy but here he was, the man who'd helped her through her first period of mourning, dying right before her eyes. She slammed to her knees beside him, her hands hovering over his wound, not knowing what to do. Her eyes were wet but she blinked back the tears. He was already so wounded, so scared. He didn't need her crying to make it worse.

"Hang on, Dale, hang on." She told him; it surprised her that her voice was so strong. She gave up trying to will the blood to stop flowing from his stomach. She took his hand instead, now trying to push her own life force into him. "Look at me."

He tried; she could tell he really did. Though no longer her last tether to the world, Dale still meant a lot to her. Meant more to her than she had previously known. To see him lying there, helpless, dying, split her heart in two. He was in so much pain. If there was a God, He wasn't being merciful tonight. Dale would die and he would feel every moment of his death. Above them, Rick tried to get Hershel to work on the old man. But she knew Dale was too far gone. _Dale_ knew Dale was too far gone. He was struggling. To talk. To breathe. To live.

Rick finally took out his gun. Used so much against zombies, it felt oddly bad to see it used against a man so peaceful he probably couldn't hurt a fly. "Oh God," she murmured, squeezed his hand, and stood up. Stepped away. Couldn't be that close. Couldn't feel his hand go limp in hers when Rick pulled the trigger.

But it wasn't Rick who killed him. Rick couldn't do it. She saw the sadness in his face, in his stance, and it mirrored her own, it mirrored the stance of every person viewing this grizzly scene. Daryl took it from him and Andrea covered her mouth with her hand. Daryl leaned in close to Dale and the old man, as hurt as he was, understood. He picked up his head, still huffing with the effort to just breathe, and place his head on the end of the gun.

"Sorry, brother." Daryl murmured, and Andrea squeezed her eyes shut as the shot went off. The shot heard around the world was nothing compared to this. This one reverberated to her core.

Andrea swore she wouldn't cry now. It wasn't easy; Carol was crying, Lori had tears in her eyes, and even Carl was sobbing profusely. Rick stood there for a moment looking dumbfounded and Daryl handed him his gun without saying a word; Hershel muttered a prayer and walked away. Then Rick ushered his family back toward the house. T-Dog stayed. Daryl stayed. Andrea, hand still on her mouth, stayed. T-Dog glanced at her as if waiting for some confirmation. Then he moved in, crouched and placed a hand on Dale's shoulder and sat there for a bit, perhaps remembering what the old man had done for him.

Without a word passing between the two, Daryl and T-Dog picked Dale up and took him back to camp. To the graveyard where Sophia and Hershel's wife lay. Daryl had kindly closed Dale's eyes before picking him up. Was a nice gesture; it meant a lot to Andrea to see that. Andrea followed numbly, noting that the country-bred man was getting Dale's brains and blood all over his pants. But she didn't take in any of it. She just followed and watched as they tried to be very gentle with the old man's body when they set him down. T-Dog even placed Dale's arms on his chest. Except for the hole between his eyes and the way his stomach seemed to no longer be there, the man might have looked as if he were just asleep.

Asleep in the graveyard.

T-Dog backed away, headed off somewhere. Andrea could hear his footsteps retreating but she didn't care which way he was headed. She knelt down by the body of the man who'd pulled her out of depression. She gently pushed her fingers through his hair. Faintly remembered that this is what she'd done for Amy. But Amy had turned. Dale had the mercy, thankfully, of not. He looked peaceful somehow, as if death had given him some sort of reprieve. She couldn't help but smile at the idea that this was some sick joke. It was not a happy smile. She felt almost as if it would have been better to die just so she could earn half as much peace as Dale had been given in death. But then… but then she would have let Dale down.

Something shifted behind her, and she grew aware of Daryl again. Her stomach fluttered hotly, a nervous jitter she wasn't expecting, and she felt her temper flare. This should be her own time alone with Dale! But then she realized that she was wrong, that Daryl deserved to be here just as much as she did. He was probably just waiting for her to be finished so he, too, could pay his last respects.

She sat back, her hands brushing through the grass; it prickled her. "Daryl?" Her voice sounded like it was a thousand years old. Came out almost in a croak it was so thick with emotion. She swallowed.

"Huh?" He grunted and shifted his feet.

It didn't sound right to talk. Not now, not when she mourned. But she forced herself to. "Thanks. For taking away his pain."

She could hear him take a step forward and now he was right behind her. She felt her heart torn between her love for the old man and the searing sensation she felt as if just his presence was going to burn the skin right off of her back. "He didn't deserve t' suffer."

She bit her lip, unsure of what to say. Unsure if even speaking was the right thing to do. "He… he was good to us. Me'n'Amy. Took us in before we met you and your brother." She said and felt as if this was what she was supposed to say. She was supposed to pay homage to the man who'd saved her life; she was supposed to say these things about this man to the man who was quickly _becoming_ her life. Strangely, she felt a sense of peace as she spoke. "I didn't see it then, not until he told me in the CDC, but he was like a father to me. To both of us. He helped me when I should have died. I owe my _life_ to him."

She'd resumed stroking his hair. She'd never done it to him while he was alive, but it felt so _right_ to do it now. Like she ought to be messing with him. It was dark but the moon shone gaily overhead, illuminating him, surrounding him with a sheath of light as the rays of the moon reflected off the grass. It looked almost surreal. Like he was an angel like he deserved to be. He out of all of them deserved to have that privilege.

"Told me th' group was broken." Daryl's voice startled her at first. She hadn't forgotten he was there—his presence burned into every fiber of her being—but that he'd spoken had given her a start. "Told me we had t' fix it."

She couldn't look up at him; if she would have looked up anyway, all she would have seen was shadow. Instead, she sighed and blinked back a fresh onslaught of tears. Nothing wetted her cheeks. "He sure did have a way of understanding things."

Silence. The occasional call of the late cricket. She wished she could have done more for him. Started digging a hole. It felt _wrong_ to be burying him like she'd buried Amy. Wrong not because of anything to do with the ground. Dale just shouldn't have been dead. It was a freak accident. Just like it had been a freak accident that had caused she and her sister to join him. Or that caused Amy's death. Or that caused her feelings for Daryl.

"He told me once about his wife. Erma, I think. He bought that RV for her; they were going to go on a cross-country trip. But she got cancer and died before that could happen. He never had kids. He said he'd been pretty down before he met us… Amy'n'me. Perhaps this was better for him. Not having to leave anything behind. Perhaps he's with Erma again. Perhaps he's fishing with Amy."

He made a sound sort of like a snort and shifted his feet which sent tingles up her spine. "S'ppose we all meet up with them we love when we croak."

This time she did look up at him in time to see him crouch down beside her to pick at a blade of grass. He did so awkwardly, almost as if he was so surprised that he'd spoken his mind that he had to move. She felt her side warm but she focused on Dale as she said, "I would love to see Dale again. And Amy. It was her birthday, you know. She died the day before her birthday." She swallowed hard, bidding the tears to wait, wait for tomorrow. "I would tell her 'Happy Birthday.' I'd tell Dale 'thank you.' I never did."

Andrea couldn't believe that she wasn't tearing up. Couldn't believe she was feeling these things for Daryl even though the man who'd become a father-figure was lying before her, dead. Then she realized that it must be all fate. Something that God had done. Kill Dale, get Daryl. Well fuck anything any god did. As far as she knew, God was dead. The walkers had killed him. And yet she still held faith. In something.

"Dunno what I'd say." His voice was closer now. "Prolly nothin'. Not good at speakin' 'nyway."

She managed a faint smile. "Dale would know what you meant."

"S'ppose he would. Always knew everything." Daryl pondered.

The wave of exhaustion had been coming and going, ebbing and flowing, and she felt it come back now. Trying to hold back tears took energy she did not have. Trying to stay strong not only for herself but for Dale, who must have been watching somewhere, was hard work. Trying to show that she was stronger now, stronger this time, wouldn't break, was trying. She wouldn't have done it in her right mind… or maybe she would have… but she leaned into Daryl. He shifted his weight slightly and breathed inward sharply but didn't say anything. It was awkward for her. She didn't like contact like this, she didn't _like_ contact. But it felt right somehow. It really and truly felt right. He didn't do anything against her touch, but then again he didn't do anything for it, either. He just crouched there, a strong statue holding her up. She felt the first of many tears drip down her cheeks.

"Gunna say goodbye?" He asked finally after a certain amount of silence, his voice soft, softer than she'd ever heard it before.

She blinked and a shiver coursed through her. "I… didn't even think about it. It's weird. I didn't think I…" her voice choked and she cleared it in an unladylike way, "didn't think I would ever have to."

"Don't think 'nyone does." He mused. "Don't think 'nyone thinks about puttin' a gun to his friend's head, neither."

She gulped and pushed her head upward to look at him. As before, he was covered in shadows. But she could see how stony his face looked, how set his features were. The strange glint in his eye. Then she realized that they were tears and she started. He must have noticed, for he quickly wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. She did what she thought was best and put her hand on his. A kind gesture. He began to pull his hand away quickly but relented at the last second and instead held onto hers fiercely. Like a lifeline. She realized then how much Dale meant to Daryl, too.

Their silence, their companionship, lasted for a few moments before she pushed away from Daryl's comfort and looked at Dale again. She smiled a sad smile, a smile that turned her mouth in funny ways. "I don't think it's goodbye just yet." She said, and this time she didn't even try to stem the tears. She wiped her own eyes with her hand. "Not yet."

Daryl chuckled sourly, "So. When?"

"Never if you want. You'll remember him; you'll remember the things he said." She stopped for a moment, catching her breath. She was trying _not_ to remember now which only made her remember more. "You'll remember his stupid Falkner quotes, the way he was always logical when others weren't. You'll forget him for a while, but… but something will happen and it'll be something really small but you'll remember him." She paused briefly again, wiped her eyes, "I'll never forget the way he saved us. Saved me. It doesn't…" Her throat seized for a moment and fresh tears fell down her face. She forced herself to go onward. "It doesn't have to be goodbye."

"What if I want to say it?" He asked darkly shifting again and their skin touched. New shockwaves coursed through her and she forced her body to relax. But the more she relaxed the more she cried. Soft tears, soft sobs, she knew she couldn't hold them in anymore anyway, even in front of Daryl.

"Then… then I'll leave you alone." She mused, looking at him, his shadowed features, his usually calm demeanor broken by something akin to despair.

"No." He countered and then added, "No, don't leave. You got a right t' be here, too."

So she stayed. The two stayed there for a while, she sitting on her knees and he in a weird half-crouch where one knee was lowered to the ground for support. Each paid homage in their own way, silently, watching what remained of life in the old man die away. The night crept onward and the moon was well past its midnight mark when finally he stood. She looked up at him, at his somber face, and couldn't help but wonder what would happen next. But she took the hand he offered her and he pulled her gently to her feet. Something passed between them that night. They might have had different reasons in which they grieved for the old man, but they grieved just the same. Even she did... though she'd promised never to grieve in the same way.

It wasn't to separate tents that they headed off to. Daryl steered her to his tent, for once allowing someone close to him. Not because he wanted her but because she needed him. He'd seen how broken she'd been after her sister died and he wanted her to know that this time she wasn't alone. The tent was cramped though it was meant for two people simply because he had all of his stuff in it. But they slowly, somberly, moved things around and she lay down while he stood outside for a while, contemplating what she'd said. Finally, when he crawled into the tent and maneuvered himself so that the broken woman had her head on his arm and her body curled into his, he realized that she was right. Daryl Dixon had never said goodbye and he'd never known why before. But Andrea had told him why—because it never really was goodbye even though someone was gone. They were always remembered.

In the morning, no one noticed Andrea and Daryl head down from his little camp together. No one noticed how close she was to him when they finally buried Dale in his final resting place beside Sophia's grave, the headstone a simple wooden cross. When they said their goodbyes, no one noticed that neither Andrea nor Daryl truly said goodbye.

For Dale wasn't truly gone.


End file.
